Let It Snow
by skybound2
Summary: Speaking of which, he needed to add 'maim and torture' Bobby to his to-do list for his next visit to South Dakota." A snapshot of the life when the boys are 8 and 12. This one is fairly light-hearted.


**Title:** Let It Snow  
**Author:** **skybound2**  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoiler** None (Pre-series)  
**Pairing/Character:** John, Dean, and Sam  
**Summary:** _Speaking of which, he needed to add 'maim and torture' Bobby to his to-do list for his next visit to South Dakota._ A snapshot of the life when the boys are 8 and 12. This one is fairly light-hearted.  
**Author's Notes:** Written for **superficfridays** back in 2007.

**Prompts:** Snow  
**Disclaimers:** Playing in Kripke's universe, none of this is mine.  
**Word Count:** ~700

**Let It Snow**

"God damn, it. Dean! I thought I told you to unpack the car!" John Winchester liked to believe that he was a patient man. He could spend hours waiting for a clean shot out on a hunt, and he was sure that no one but him could have endured the endless amount of hours that he had just logged on the road with both Sam and Dean, hyped up on those damned pixie sticks that Bobby seemed to think were an appropriate reward for helping to organize his salvage yard. _Paper straws of pure sugar!_ What had the man been thinking?! Of course, the look of malicious glee on Bobby's face as he waved goodbye to the Winchester clan was enough proof that he had known _exactly_ what he had just done to John.

Speaking of which, he needed to add 'maim and torture' Bobby to his to-do list for his next visit to South Dakota.

Still, John had managed to get them to their destination, without popping a blood vessel, or physically restraining the two young boys. Sure, he might have made some off-handed threats about duct tape and it's many varied uses, but he hadn't _actually_ taped the boys mouths shut, so he checks that one off in the 'win' column.

He figured for all this pain and suffering, he was due one nice, quiet, scalding hot motel shower. The weather outside was hideous, and he was chilled through to his bones from his last hunt still. Was it too much to ask that his clothes be in the room when he finished? It was all of a 30 foot walk from the car to the motel, and he'd been in the shower for at least 10 minutes, so what they hell could possibly be keeping Dean?

Grumbling to himself, he wrapped a towel around his waist, ignoring the water dripping into his eyes from his still wet hair, and pounded over to the door of the motel. Pulling a deep breath into his lungs, he threw the door open and prepared to yell out at his son to get his butt in gear.

At which point he was hit squarely in the jaw by a snowball.

A gasp to his lower right alerted him to the whereabouts of his eight-year old, which left a certain twelve-year old as the culprit. Still clutching the towel with his left hand, he used the fingers of his right to clear the snow from his eyes, before he focused on Dean peeking sheepishly out from behind the trunk of the Impala.

"Dean Winchester?"

"Yes, sir."

"Could you please bring me my duffel?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you."

John made his way back into the motel room, the heavy sound of his son's quick steps close behind. John nodded to Dean to toss the sack on the closest bed. He could see his son nearly vibrating with tension out of the corner of his eye, as he tried to restrain himself from running back outside, and away from his father's wrath. John kept silent as he rummaged around in the bag one-handed for his clothes.

"One hour, Dean. Keep Sam with you, and the first sign that his fingers are turning blue, you get both your asses back inside, you hear me?" The smile that cautiously lit up his son's face reminded John so much of Mary, he couldn't help smiling in response.

"Yes, sir. One hour. I can do that." Dean turned to race back outside, meeting his stunned little brother by the door.

"Oh, and Dean? When you get back, the weapons will need a good cleaning." Dean nodded his head in resignation, Sam shuffling back and forth on his feet just outside the door.

"Which ones?"

"All of them." The audible sound of his son's gulp as he answered in the affirmative, before he clicked the door shut behind him, brought another smile to John's face.

Screw maiming Bobby. Next time he was in Sioux Falls, he was dropping the boys off for the weekend with two boxes of those damned sticks as payment.

In the meantime, he had an hour free, and another hot shower seemed like the most inviting thing in the world right then.

~End


End file.
